


Ugly

by 123456ja



Category: iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: Coming Out, Drama, Light Angst, M/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-13 16:47:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18944935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/123456ja/pseuds/123456ja
Summary: "I'm not like the girls. I am ugly. More so than anyone else."- inspired by 2ne1's song Ugly





	1. Coming Out

**Author's Note:**

> I am sad right now so decided to just share this earlier than what I've said on twitter. 
> 
> Chanwoo Sari will be taking a break. My Friday's will never be the same again. :((
> 
> Anyway, about this story. This is sort of a spinoff of Paradise Lost, the what if's and what not's... this can be a stand alone too, so no need to reread PL.
> 
> Another note. This story is relayed via first person narrative. So if you don't like that kind of story telling, this is not for you. 
> 
> Enjoy and ignore my grammar lapses and typos.

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When I was fifteen, I tried wearing make up for the first time. It was a hot July afternoon, and my parents had gone out for the day. I was full of excited nerves when I crept into their room and sat at my mother's dressing table.

There were bottles of liquid, sponges, powers, brushes and perfumes. They all had a pleasant, lightly scented smell, like talc, and they all seemed to hold such promise. Such reassurance. Try it, they seemed to say, we will make you beautiful. I imitated what I had seen on TV commercials, what I had watched my mother do.

I was heavy handed. Unsteady. Clueless. Naturally I didn't know how to put makeup on - I was a fifteen year old boy. The July heat made the blotchy liquids run together with my sweat until it appeared that my entire face were melting. Horrified, I let the powders and liquids tumble off the table edge, rolling across the floor in all directions and I sat and stared at myself, confronted by my own ugliness, unable to look away. My tears smudged it more.

Hideous. I am... hideous.

I don't want to be a woman…

 

==/==/==/==/

 

"Ji~won~ie!" her voice rings out like a song in the quiet of the university library. I glance up from the magazine to watch her approach. I have to, like my eyes are drawn by strings. Who wouldn't have to? Every head in the library looks up to watch her pass. As if it were the natural order of things.

She is stunning. Even in simple jeans and a sweater, she is stunning. She balances a thick textbook on her hip, emphasising the lines of her shape. Feminine and perfect.

 

She heads straight towards the table, and sets her bag down on the chair opposite me, tucking her long hair behind her ears, and smiling radiantly. "Can you help me?" she asks unashamedly, "With the maths from yesterday? I don't understand it at all."

 

Beside me, Jiwon smiles back at her.

"Sure..." he replies, gesturing to the empty seat across from him. She immediately sets the book on the table, flicking swiftly to the page in question. "Here," she explains. "This bit."

I draw the magazine we had been reading together back across to my side of the desk and stare down at it blankly. The words and pictures reporting on the annual university basketball league results don't seem to have any meaning any more. I run my eye over the letters and numbers, but none of them sink in.

"Are those new earrings?" he asks.

"Oh! You noticed?" She straightens up, obviously pleased, pushing her hair back again to reveal delicate silver butterflies, dancing bright against the smooth silk of her hair. "I got them at the weekend. The design is nice, right?"

I close the magazine and get up to leave. Immediately Jiwon's hand reaches out to take gentle hold of my wrist, holding me back.

"Junhoe," he says, looking up at me, "do you have to go?"

"Yeah" I mutter, shaking off his grip and fumbling to stuff the magazine back into my bag, "some stuff to do."

The girl looks up at me from her seat at the table warmly. "Junhoe" she addresses me with a pleasant smile, "I saw you at the game last week. I'm sure you get taller every time I see you." She tilts her head in a cute gesture, "Good luck in the next game."

I look at her. The slight shimmer of her lips, the delicate slant of her eyes, the way her eyelashes frame such a pretty stare. She is nothing but friendliness and beauty.  
Girls are... amazing. How they look. How they act. How easy it is for them to capture people's hearts. It is because they know. Because they know how much men adore them.

I can't win against them...

 

==/==/==/==/

 

"Junhoe!" he slaunters up to the table with a grin. Behind him, Donghyuk and Chanwoo trail along as usual, carrying trays of food purchased from the canteen. 

 

"Eating by yourself again? It's not good for your health, you know."

"Idiot."

He seats himself next to me and pulls his lunch of fried rice out of his bag. I ignore him and continue to eat. Donghyuk and Chanwoo sit down opposite us and immediately descend into their usual brand of monotonous chatter.

"We have a good chance at making the top three this year!" Chanwoo expounds, his mouth full of fries. "If Junhoe continues to play like this, we might even beat Seoul-U!"

"Of course we'll beat them!" Jiwon declares happily. "We would have beaten them last year, if I hadn't been injured..."

"I don't know about that..." Donghyuk mutters darkly. "Last year was easily your worst season. Ever."

“Hmmmm..." Jiwon pouts, feigning a look of dejection, "...well that was only because I was so sad at not being able to play with Junhoe. He is the only one who brings out my true genius, you know?"

Before I can prepare myself, he throws a casual arm around my shoulder and drags me fully against him. I freeze. His scent wafts over me, filling me, his body is warm and firm where my cheek presses against his shirt and his chest, his arms, so powerful, engulf me in his embrace. This same old friendly gesture that means nothing at all.

I want... to be pinned down... by these arms.

 

==/==/==/==/

 

I can't remember exactly when it was that I first dreamt about him. When it first occurred to me to imagine what it would be like to kiss him, to have him hold me, to lie back and let him love me and have me and take all of me. But once those thoughts had made their way into my head, it was impossible to let them go again.

Even then, on that day, after I make my way back to my dorm room, blast myself under the shower and crawl under the covers, he is still there, teasing me in my thoughts. My hands wander over my own body, trying to imagine that they were his hands, that he is really there, keeping me warm, touching me, telling me that he loves me, wants me. I imagine it all, so real and so vivid, until I orgasm into my own hands with his name on my lips, then sit there shivering, knowing full well just how pathetic I am.

Ever since the beginning, I've been good at hiding it. This twisted side of myself. So he doesn't know what I really am. But it remains my biggest fear that one day he would find out. And then he, my best friend - my only friend - would be gone.

I am ugly. And I am well aware of that.

 

==/==/==/==/

 

I drag my feet as I cross the campus towards the sports centre. It feels weird, to be going their without my usual bag, and in my normal clothes instead of our team tracksuit. But it's all because training has been canceled today in favour of a meeting I wouldn't normally attend except that the captain made it mandatory.

Chairs have been set out on the court, and many of them are already occupied by members of the men's and women's basketball teams. Jiwon, I notice, is sitting near the front with Donghyuk and Chanwoo. He catches my eye as I enter, and attempts to wave me over, but I shake my head slightly and take for myself a quiet place at the back.

The two captains, Hanbin of the men's team, and Chaerin of the women's, stand at the front to address us.

"As many of you already know," Hanbin begins, "The university's annual charity week is coming in May. As usual, the men and women's teams are going to work together to organise our fundraising event."

As this is my first year at the uni, I settle down in my chair, wondering if I can get away with a quick nap. I have no intention of joining in the discussion. It has nothing to do with me, whatever they decide to do. I can feel my eyelids growing heavy already.

"We will of course be doing our usual ten-shot challenge," Hanbin tells us, rather undemocratically. "We will take three of our free-standing baskets out into the field. For 2000 won, competitors get ten balls. If they can make five baskets, they receive a small prize."

"If they get more than seven baskets" the women's captain adds, "draft them into the team."

A ripple of laughter runs through the room. Everyone seems pretty enthusiastic about the whole thing.

"We need to decide what we can use as prizes" Hanbin continues.

"What about an I-beat-the-basketball-team badge?" someone suggests.

"What about a kiss from Jiwon?" someone else shouts out, at which the laughter escalates again. Someone wolf whistles. I try to pretend I am immune to it all.

I look towards Jiwon and see him look around, smiling good-naturedly at the joke. Only the way he scratches sheepishly at his head tells me he is embarrassed.

"All right, all right, settle down" Hanbin admonishes after a moment, calling the meeting back to order again. He looks down at the paper in his hands. "The next thing on the agenda is this: we need to decide who to send to the art faculty's cross-dressing competition. One boy and one girl."

There is a short silence, in which many people exchange looks.

"Ah!" I look forward and see that it is Jiwon who has spoken, rising slightly from his chair. "For the cross-dressing competition... maybe we can have Junhoe participate?"

Huh?

"That's a great idea!" Chanwoo pipes up, nodding.

A dozen other voices speak up to confirm. "Things are sure to heat up with Junhoe participating!"

"I want to see Junhoe dressed like a girl!" one of the girls coos.

"It would definitely suit him, don't you think?"

What? Wait-

"Well" Hanbin replies, "I guess that's decided. Now we just need a girl to..."

"No!"

It echoes in the hall like a gunshot. They all turn and look at me.

It didn't sound like my voice at all. Made higher, sharper, by my panic. I realise I've stood up so fast that my chair has fallen back with a crash. The memory of my shame, my ugliness, rises in fury across my cheeks. I'd die. I'd rather die.

"I'm not doing it."

They all look at me. I stand and endure their stares, feeling suddenly hot, like warmth is creeping up from my collar to warm my face. I can only stand there while they stare. I don't know what to do.

Was it weird, I wonder, for me to react so strongly?

Yes. Of course it was weird.

Obviously concerned by my distress, Jiwon rises from his seat and hurries over to me while chatter breaks out in the hall. All of it, doubtless, related to me.

"But Junhoe..." Jiwon says, laying a hand on my arm, "...you'll look really good, I'm sure."

There's no way. No way I'll look good.

"Yeah, Junhoe, you would be great," some nearby girls decide to offer their unnecessary comments. "We'll do your makeup for you."

I'm not like the girls...

"Blue" the girls decide, without any consultation at all. "Blue will bring out your eyes."

… I am ugly. More so than anyone else.

"But eye shadow ought to be dark. Heavier lines will make him look more seductive..."

I shake my head, beginning to feel quite ill, but it's as if my opinion is entirely invalid, the way they carry on. Only Jiwon is watching me with any sort of concern, and that in itself, is just as embarrassing.

Hanbin's voice booms out from the front, a ripple of accusation running through his words which I cannot fail to notice. "It's for the team effort, you know."

I try to glare but I've lost all fire. My voice is gone. I cannot allow it, but I can't see how to stop it. All eyes are back on me.

"Its for charity" they inform me, "you've got to", "for the team," "don't worry about it," "it will be fun!"

They don't know. They don't know. None of them. What I really am.

I grip the back of the chair in front of me and try to hold back the waves of nausea. The world feels like its tipping. If only they would stop staring at me like that. If only I...

"I'll do it then."

There passes a long and quiet moment before I crack my eyes open and look sideways at Jiwon, who has his hand in the air and a small glance and a reassuring smile just for me. I stare at him, amazed.

Hanbin wrinkles his nose. "Er... better not, Jiwon."

"You've got a nice face but, a bit too... rugged... aren't you?"

"Definitely not."

"It would look like a joke."

"How about Chanwoo then?"

"Whaaaat? Noooo!"

The conversation shifts quickly to other candidates, and Jiwon moves closer to speak in my ear privately.

"I'm sorry" he says, catching my eye with a sincere look, "I didn't mean to embarrass you. I really thought you'd be the prettiest one, that's all. Sorry... Junhoe."

I shrug it off. It is much easier to be calmer when the pressure is lifted. "It's fine. Thank you for helping me."

His smile. His smile is like sunshine.

Hidden, for another day.

 

==/==/==/==/

 

By the end of the week, I am not in the best frame of mind. A rota dictates which team members are in charge of manning our ten-shot challenge stall at any one time. I've spent the week partnered with one of our aspirational but untalented and unfit freshers who does nothing but wear his team jersey for bragging rights, hero worship and recite my own stats to me, as if I kept an equally careful record, or even cared at all.

"I noticed" he points out on the fifth day, "that in the match against Polytech, you received 59 passes from Jiwon, but in the last match with a different university, he gave you 98. Why do you think that is?"

Not sure I can stand much more, I turn around and begin making sure all the names on the leader-board are perfectly aligned, ignoring him.

Beyond the foam boards of our makeshift stand I can see Jiwon picking his way through the other sporting events, a girl on his arm who is gushing and expounding with every single success. Jiwon, it appears, is a natural in most sports.

I grind my teeth slightly. At how she smiles, and presses against his arm with her perfectly pert beasts, fluttering her lashes and giggling helplessly. Shameless, shameless flirting.

How can she do it? So blatantly? So casually? Without shame or shyness or pride she can set her feelings on display for anyone to see. And nobody minds. Nobody thinks she is bad, or weird, or a freak. That she is free to do what I can't... grinds on me. Stuck here, doomed only to watch them flirt with him, never to take my turn or try my chances.

 

It hurts. It just hurts too much.

 

==/==/==/==/

 

It is during the clean up process that she manages to corner me. I recognise her from somewhere. One of my seminars, it turns out, when she introduces herself.

"Junhoe I... I've liked you for a long time and I'd... really like to get to know you better. I've got tickets for... and I was wondering if..."

I look over her head towards where the rest of the team are packing things away. They look like they are having fun.

She is waiting for an answer. Looking at me with those big, expectant eyes. She reminds me of the girl who followed Jiwon around earlier. She reminds me of the girl he helped with her maths homework, of the last girl he dated, of all the girls he has known. And quite suddenly I find that I hate her. I hate her and her brazen confession. What gives her the right, the sanction, to do such a thing? Just because. Just because she is a girl. It makes me feel so angry. And all my frustration seems to surface at once.

"I hate girls."

"Pardon?"

"I hate girls!" I repeat, louder, clearer, more angry, with her, with myself, with Jiwon, with everything. I hate girls.

She looks as if I have slapped her. As if her eyes are about to fill with righteous tears. I don't intend to wait and see. I simply turn on my heel and storm off across the grass of the sports field. I can hear calls behind me from the teammates who must have seen the whole thing from afar. But I don't look back. I am furious. I hate it all. I hate myself most of all.

It is... a hopeless, hopeless thing.

I don't want to be a woman...

...I just want to be loved by a man.

I've almost reached the edge of campus when he catches up to me and grabs my arm.

"Junhoe!"

I spin around before I am even aware there are tears in my eyes. For a moment he hesitates. He. His warmth, his heartbeat, so close to me. How desperate I am for him to just drag me into his arms. Let me feel what it is to be embraced by him. Just an instant, and then the moment vanishes and his arm is around my shoulders. That useless friendly gesture once again.

"Junhoe. Is something bothering you?"

I shake my head.

"You can tell me" he tries to reassure softly. "We are friends, aren't we?"

How much I wish I could tell him. How I wish I could shout it.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

But I don't say it. I gently extract myself from his grasp.

"It's nothing I... just felt a little unwell. I'm going to head back to my room. Sorry for not helping with the tidying."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"No," I take a step away. "I'm fine."

I walk over the grass without looking back. My heart in my mouth. Ugly. Like there's a hole inside me.

 

~tbc

-evilmaknaejcw


	2. You Are Beautiful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are confused or anything. Don't hesitate to ask me okay?
> 
> Also, there are people who are still asking me if this is a continuation of PL or if this is the 'bonus chapter/s' that I've promised, so let me break it down again:
> 
> 1\. This is not a continuation of PL, this is a spinoff, an entirely different story but still connected with PL. Or an alternative story. 
> 
> 2\. No, this is not the bonus chapter/s that I've promised. I'm still not sure what content I'm going to put but, yeah. Please wait a little bit for that...
> 
> That's all. Enjoy. 😁

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Jiwon’s POV

 

Would it have been different, I wonder, if I had done that? Watching him walk away from me, I think yes, perhaps, it might have.

But it's clear, at least, that he wants to be alone. And what right have I to intrude upon him? So I do nothing but watch him leave.

But I can see. I can see the clench of his fists. The unnatural swiftness of his walk, as if he is running, trying to escape from something.

But what?

What, Junhoe, are you hiding from me? Don't I mean more to you than this? Just anbirritation on your time?

I head back to the post-event cleanup, dragging my feet as I go.

"Where's he gone? Is he okay?"

Though he often seems unfriendly, his teammates still care about him, though often I don't think he realises this.

"He said he was feeling unwell. He's gone back to his dorm for a rest."

They don't look entirely convinced. Nor am I, to be sure. But what else can I say to them?

Would it have been different, I wonder, if I had embraced you then? That moment when I saw clearly the torment in your eyes.

We work together to drag the heavy, free standing basket back to the sports centre. It is tough work, and although it is still only May, we are soon panting and coated in sweat.

"Don't let Hanbin see us like this" Donghyuk warns with a grumble. "Or he will add basket hauling to our training regime."

There is a twitter of amusement. If Junhoe were here, I find myself thinking, he wouldn't be out of breath. He works harder, I know, than anyone else on the team. He is strong, and tall, and a fast runner, and a worker of magic when we need it most. In raw technique, not even I can match him, though when it comes to instinct and strategy I remain his superior.

Being on a team with him is a dream come true for me. Finally, after carrying my entire team almost single-handedly for so long, finally there is another on the court my equal. Someone who can take his share of the pressure. And he does so with extraordinary finesse. He's taken to the role of star player like a duck to water. And I don't mind if he sometimes overshadows me. How he scores all the points with flashy dunks, complex footwork and crowd pleasing skills. It just means that I am left to enjoy the complexities of the game I love so much.

I play point guard now, eighty percent of the time. It suits me, perfectly. And Junhoe is any guard's dream weapon. I can throw the ball high, and know he'll reach it. I can throw it wide or long or bounce it through the legs of some unsuspecting defender and revel in the way he is there, right where I want him to be, dancing his unparalleled way through the other team as they were nothing more than surf floating on his wave.

Separately we were always strong, but together we are all but invincible. Chanwoo may be enthusiastic about the top three, but I know neither Junhoe nor I would be satisfied with anything less than first place.

Thinking of him, his fire, his passion, makes me smile. But then I recall his inexplicable sadness, and the mirth drains from my face.

I don't know what I should do to help him.

"....hey? Jiwon!"

"Huh? What?"

Donghyuk looks half way to enraged already. I swallow. I better stop all my daydreaming if I don't want to get hurt.

"Are you coming or not?"

"What? Where?"

"The showers. We're going to shower off before we head back. I don't know about you, but I stink."

"Oh, sure, ok. Good idea."

We all retrieve spare sets of clothes from our lockers and enter the men's changing rooms. There are already a number of people milling about, apparently with the same idea after our sweaty excursions on this hot day. Members of the men's football and hockey teams are standing about, towelling hair and exchanging anecdotes. It is a rather busy, pleasant atmosphere. It is rare, after all, for all of our teams to gather together like this.

I nod to familiar faces I recognise and, leaving Donghyuk and Chanwoo squabbling over a towel, let myself into one of the shower stalls. I set the water temperature to cool and stand idle, just letting it pour over me, soaking my hair and my body pleasantly.

After a few relaxing minutes I get down to the business of soaping. Wafts of conversation from the changing room drift into my stall. The voices, I don't recognise them, but his name makes my ears prick up curiously.

"Did you see it? That girl with Junhoe today?"

"He's that basketball player, right? The really tall one?"

"Yeah. Did you see he rejected her?"

"Seohyun, right? She is one of the most beautiful girls in the freshman year!"

"Handsome guys are so lucky..."

"Well, he is the so-called ace of the basketball team."

"I've heard he's rejected every girl since joining the uni."

"Maybe because he's focusing on his basketball?"

"Do you really believe that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well... isn't it because he is gay?"

I fumble the bottle of soap and it makes a racket as it tumbles down to the tiles. I make no move to pick it up again.

"Is he?"

"Hahahaha, that can't be true."

"Don't you think so?"

Quietly I switch off the water and dry myself on the towel.

"He does have a rather effeminate face, I suppose."

"It would explains the girls too. I mean... Seohyun! No one would reject her if they were really straight."

I wrap the towel around my waist, securing it with a tight knot, and open the door. I step confidently out onto the floor, torso bare to the air-conditioned chill of the room, leaving large, damp footprints in my wake. I make a direct line towards the gossip makers.

From the corner of my eye I see Donghyuk rise from his seat in concern, as if afraid I am about to do something terribly rash. I ignore him.

"He's not gay" I announce severely.

The three boys who had been conversing immediately spin around. "Jiwon!"

They are heavily built american football players, although they look a fair bit smaller without their usual protective padding, and it is almost comical the way they all look quite shocked. I am a good foot taller than they are, I suppose. Plus I'm fairly muscular myself. I must look rather terrifying when I am angry.

I stare at them. They stare nervously back.

I have no tolerance for anyone who would bad-mouth my friend in such a way, but it seems equally obvious that they are already regretting their idle slander.

So, instead of getting increasingly angry, I let myself smile. My angry demeanour vanishes in an instant, and Donghyuk hesitates in his concerned rush across the room.

"He's not gay. He's just too busy to be worrying about girls right now," I inform them.

"Ah" they look quite relieved by my change in tone. "Yes, we see. Of course, that makes sense. Thank you, Jiwon. Sorry to disturb your shower."

I shrug and turn, heading back to my stall to change. Donghyuk drops heavily onto a nearby bench in relief.

Later, when I emerge fully clothed, he is still there waiting for me with Chanwoo, although the american football players appear to be long gone.

"For god's sake Jiwon" Donghyuk berates, "you bloody scared me."

"What?"

"The look on your face, dammit. I thought you were going to kill them."

I shrug and scratch my head. "It was petty of them" I try to explain, "to talk such trash just because they are jealous."

Donghyuk rolls his eyes in aspiration. "Well, whatever. Just don't do that again. With the football team, no less. Honestly. All of them were twice as big as me."

"Actually, the one on the right seemed a little bit smaller than yo-.."

"Shut up, Chanwoo."

"It's fine" I brush Donghyuk's concerns away. "They already knew they were out of line. No harm done."

I think of him, and it makes me smile a little. Junhoe always seems strong. He is naturally stoic, I suppose. But I know, underneath all that, how sensitive he is.

I know him better than anybody, after all.

 

==/==/==/==/

 

The very next day, following the end of the charity events, training starts again in earnest.

"We've missed six days of training" Hanbin informs us. "Now you're going to make up for it."

There are groans from everyone in the room, except for Junhoe next to me, whose eyes seem particularly sharp and particularly bright today. I expect he has missed these training hours over the last week. I expect he is keen to have a ball in his hands again, to run like the wind down the court again, perhaps to be exactly were he feels he belongs again - somewhere between my pass and another two points.

I can only marvel at the way he is always at the front. The way he never seems to run out of energy or fire, despite the fact that the training is so gruelling that even he can do little but drag his feet by the end of it all.

Utterly wiped out, I take a long shower that day. My tiredness dragging down my limbs, so I can barely find the energy to dress myself again. By the time I step out of the stalls, everyone has gone.

Everyone, that is, except for him.

He has settled himself in a corner, seated on the bench with his legs casually crossed, leaning back against the corner of the wall, asleep.

Waiting for me, Junhoe?

I can't help but smile as I approach him.

His bag covers his lap, a jersey hanging from a nearby peg dangles over his shoulder. It seems almost as if he is being buried under the basketball paraphernalia. Yet his face seems gentle in sleep. Delicate lashes on soft cheeks. A feathered fringe tickling his smooth, untroubled brow.

I remember his sadness, and it causes me to frown even as I lean closer over him, looking into his sleeping features curiously. Is there something troubling him that I don't know about? Why wouldn't he tell me? We are... best friends after all.

And yet like this... he seems so...

So delicate. So...

Well, he does have a rather effeminate face, I suppose.

Does he?

I never noticed it before. To me he has always been Junhoe. But now I look closer, right into his unguarded features, I can see it. Quite clearly. Just how beautiful he is.

Well, isn't it because he is gay?

Is it?

I move closer. Lean down. Somehow I... want to capture it. This second. This vision. It feels as if the wind is carrying me. As I bring my face close to his, it is as if I can finally... breathe. Just an inch more, and my breath will touch his. Two inches, and I will know how it feels to softly pin my admiration for everything that he is, that he has achieved, my thankfulness for everything he has given me, right there, at the corner of his lips. One tiny node of how much I care for him. My best friend.

One more inch.

A knock on the changing room doors has me leaping back from him as if I have been electrified. I can't help but slap a hand over my mouth, as if to hide it from view. As if to obscure my one moment of weakness. My vulnerability.

The hell?

I see him stir slightly at the noise and, feel all my composure completely shaken. As if in a daze I lean down and pick up my gym bag, making my unsteady way towards the door.

I push it open and slip through, letting it close and leaning back on it to quietly catch my uncertain breath. I don't even notice her until she says my name.

"Hello, Jiwon..." she addresses me shyly. I notice a small envelope in her gently trembling hands and the blush over her cheeks. A confession? Now?

"I don't know if you remember me but... we sat together last year in one of our seminars."

"Oh yes, of course, er..."

"...Chanri."

"Yes, Chanri."

I don't remember her at all.

Shyly, she passes the letter over to me. "I was hoping you could help me deliver this to..." she abruptly blushes, and gestures to the envelope helplessly. "I know you are his friend."

I look down to realise that the letter and the confession is not meant for me at all. In elegant, sloping print, she has written the name Junhoe on the scented stationery. I feel strangely cold.

"Yes. Ok. I will make sure he gets it."

"Thank you, Jiwon!"

My smile is lukewarm at best as she leaves, swinging her arms as she walks away down the corridor, as if she has achieved something.

Hardly, I tell myself scornfully. It isn't as if she even had the guts to give it to him herself. How does that possibly count as a confession? It is nothing more than a cheap stunt. Insincere, if you ask me. She's not even that pretty. Not really.

The door behind me opens, and, coming suddenly back to life I turn, stuffing the pink envelope discreetly into my pocket. Not discrete enough. His eyes follow the movement of my hand. Then they rise to see her back as she goes, her light footed steps, the bounce of her ponytail.

"Jiwon?"

"Junhoe," I am sure I am grinning like an inane fool in my self-consciousness. "You're awake?"

He just looks at me. Serves me right, I expect, for stating the obvious. His eyes drop once again to the pocket where the fist and crumpled envelope are still tightly stuffed. His lips move as if to frame a question and I find myself answering it before it has even begun.

"That girl, she ah... she wanted to..."

"She confessed to you?"

Did I imagine it. That stirring in his eyes?

"Well, she er..." my words petter out and I shrug, scratching my head.

"Did you... accept?"

I don't know how, or why, I can do this with such ease. Accept the lie, feed it back, grow it and change it. Why? He has rejected every girl since joining the uni. Since even before that, I know. There have been no exceptions. No reason for me to believe that this time will be any different. The risk... is minimal. Microscopic. And yet still I... I cannot accept it, not even the smallest chance. I cannot.

So I look him straight in the eye when I say. "Well, I'm thinking about it."

He nods briefly, not a ripple in his features. His disinterest causes a flare of guilt in me, knowing I was wrong, knowing that of course he had no interest in her. But it was a white lie, and the feeling will pass quickly enough.

"If you like her" he says pointedly, as if I am being a moron, "you should just accept."

Inside my pocket, my fist closes tightly around the now-crumpled paper, twisting and mangling the rose scented fibres and delicate declarations of a blind and insincere love that he doesn't need to know about.

Adjusting the strap of his bag he turns and walks away from me. Deja vu. I follow, just a few paces behind, and watch him, the movement of his body. Such a gentle, hypnotising sway. Almost innocent. I'm sure. But he doesn't have any idea what he is.

He has no idea how beautiful he is to me.

 

~tbc

 

-evilmaknaejcw


	3. Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I'll apologize this early because this chapter is kind of boring... it's more of a filler chapter, the eye of the storm , the calm before the chaos... hahahahhahaha
> 
> Anyway, I hope this is not confusing. Let me know if something is amiss ok? 
> 
> Enjoy.

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Junhoe's POV

 

This kind of discussion... it annoys me. I never did understand the needs of some to articulate every thought, every dilemma. Isn't it arrogant, I wonder, to constantly talk about oneself? Isn't it presumptuous to assume that anyone wants to hear all your least concerns, all your self-absorbed opinions? I could try to avoid them, try not to meet them in social situations like this, but they constantly follow him around like twittering birds so that to forego their company would be to forego his. I'm not sure I could afford such a price.

"I just don't know" the taller one – Chanwoo – is grumbling. "How am I supposed to know? Why do I need to decide now?"

Jiwon looks up briefly from the huge reference book opened across his lap and provides him with a reassuring, multi-tiered smile. One of those common ones. "Just make something up. The idea is just to get us thinking about it."

"The future -" Donghyuk sighs dreamily, staring off out of the window. "Isn't it exciting?" He can afford to be casual about the whole thing. He, like me, by virtue of being a first year, isn't required the complete the careers management assignment just yet.

"I can't believe this stupid project is actually worth credits."

"Well, if it wasn't, nobody would bother to do it, right?"

Chanwoo tsks in irritation and, for some inexplicable reason, decides to turn his eyes on me. I try to ignore his stare, but feel finally obliged to look up when he says my name.

"You and Junhoe are so lucky."

Jiwon also looks up, so that his eyes meet mine looking from Chanwoo's other side. I immediately look away. "How so?"

"Well, you guys don't need to worry about crap like this. I mean, its easy for you. You can just carry on with basketball. Your careers are practically sorted already." Determined to express his irritation fully, Chanwoo snaps his copy of The Good Careers Guide closed and glares at Jiwon. "You even have professional teams scouting you already. Who was it last week?”

I look back down at my course book, my eyes moving swiftly over lines and lines of text, my mind not registering a single word I read. The Tokyo Devils. So far away. It always makes me nervous, being reminded that next year he will graduate and once again leave me behind. It makes me nervous to wonder where he will go - whether it will be somewhere I cannot follow. Whether I will find myself excluded from the rest of his life.

"Well actually..."

If he joins a Japanese team (I run over the familiar list of possibilities once again) the likelihood of being able to join him the following season is relatively high. But if he chooses North America... it will be much more difficult, although still not impossible... for the two of us to play professionally on one team. If I am very lucky, we may even be able to go together after a year. We can start in the lower leagues. It will be unreasonable to expect the major league teams to take us on straight away, but we can definitely work our way up. Playing together we are, after all, extremely formidable. A match. An absolutely perfect match. And so, that way we could... stay together. And that reassuring thought causes the nerves in my lungs to settle slightly.

"...well actually, I'm not planning to play professionally."

There is a long, confused pause in which I look up in surprise and my eyes, much like the eyes of Chanwoo and Donghyuk, grow wide.

"What?" Chanwoo demands.

"You're kidding, right?"

"You could make any Japanese or Korean team, easily!"

"Isn't basketball everything to you?"

"You're too talented not to play!"

I only sit, stupefied.

He shakes his head, a slight frown appearing in his expression. This seriousness is so thoroughly unlike him that I can only stare. "Not everything," his eyes lift to meet mine for a brief second, and I find myself helplessly blank, completely at a loss. "Not everything."

I want to say something but my throat feels tight, like I'm suffocating.

Was I wrong? I... I had always assumed. That he would... that we would...

I continue to sit in silence while Chanwoo and Donghyuk create uproar until a library attendant comes over and reminds them to be quiet.

My mind is aflood. What is he trying to tell me? I have never imagined a future that was anything except playing basketball with him. I never realised until now how desperately I had depended on it. This past year – was everything I built up in my mind so mistaken? My hope... that everything was settled. How achingly I have wanted that this – us, here, playing together - would somehow go on, unchanging, forever.

Now I feel quite sick.

If he leaves basketball behind...

...will he leave me behind too?

They seem to have the same idea, because I hear my name cropping up once again as they begin to ask the desperate, personal questions so painful that I almost can't bear the embarrassment of hearing them said out loud.

"I thought you would carry on playing with Junhoe?"

"You two are close, right? Hey Junhoe – you haven't said anything, did you know about this already?"

Unable to bear the rush of blood thundering in my ears, I simply stare at them, barely able to hear. They are looking at me as if expecting me to make some sort of announcement. I don't know what they expect. I don't know what kind of expression Jiwon has then. I don't dare to look. It is all I can do to keep my composure. The world is spinning. My entire life seems out of joint. It's like I've been shot in the stomach.

"It's... Jiwon's decision." I manage to kick some words out of my parched throat. They rake over my tongue like sandpaper. My stiff, awkward shoulders comply with a shrug. Somehow I maintain the illusion of disinterest, despite my guts twisting like snakes. Not even I understand how I can do it.

Chanwoo and Donghyuk look at me in disbelief, as if I have betrayed them.

From the corner of my eye I see Jiwon lean forward to gather up his collection of books, notepads and pens from the table to stuff in his bag.

"Thanks, Junhoe" he says, warmly, probably with a smile except that I'm not looking his way to see it. "You always understand."

But I don't. I don't understand it at all.

He picks up his books, gives some casual excuse about a lecture, and leaves the three of us sitting there, staring after him. After a moment I also reach for my bag. Without him here, what reason do I have to stay?

I decide to simply head home. I will hide myself under the covers or soak in the hot stream of the shower, trying to forget who I am, how I feel, and where the rest of the world is moving. Trying, with an urgent desperation, to stop myself from thinking. About him. About me. About us.

Unfortunately Chanwoo does not feel the discussion is over.

"Junhoe, wait!"

I resist the impulse to roll my eyes as I turn my stare on him. His face is flushed red, his breathing slightly irregular with his emotion. He puffs himself up, reminding me of one of those ridiculous blowfish. I adjust the shoulder strap of my bag and wait for him to speak.

"I thought you were Jiwon's friend," he accuses, his eyes narrow and his voice low and dissatisfied. "I can't believe you don't even care that he is thinking of giving up basketball. I'm sure if you talked to him, you could help him to see sense. He respects you, you know."

I stare at him, irritated that he is wasting my time with his ridiculous private concerns when all I want to do right now is run as fast and as far as I possibly can. "He can make his own decisions" I respond coldly.

Chanwoo's irritation with me only escalates in the face of my disinterest. "I can't believe you!" his hands ball up with the same frustration I am feeling, but will not show, "You just don't give a shit about anyone but yourself, do you?"

My eyes narrow slightly, but I make no response. Chanwoo does not require one, he carries on his tirade anyway.

"I have no idea why Jiwon wastes his time looking out for you. Volunteering for that stupid cross-dressing thing. And those football players, too! When you don't do anything for him at all!"

Something catches in my throat. I... don't do anything for him... at all? How well I know that. How painfully I am aware of my terrible inadequacy.

"What football players?" I ask instead.

Chanwoo sucks his cheeks in and leans back in his chair, glaring up at me suspiciously, obviously unwilling to explain. Instead it is Donghyuk who speaks up. Unlike Chanwoo, his eyes are shining, as if remembering the incident excites him.

"Some idiots were badmouthing you, and Jiwon didn't like it. He just went right up to them and said 'he's not gay'! He looked really angry. It was so cool."

"He could have got himself beaten up over it." Chanwoo adds with a grumble. "Football players. Honestly."

My initial puzzlement swiftly changes to unpleasant shock.

Gay?

"Jiwon was really mad. I've never seen him look like that before. He said they were just petty and jealous, right?"

"Right."

Gay?

My face must be absolutely white. Chanwoo stares at me curiously. His lips move, but I temporarily can't hear the sound coming out of them.

Someone... saying I am... gay? Have I been that obvious? That transparent? I thought I was hiding it well enough.

An uncomfortable thought strikes me. Does this have something to do with Jiwon's decision not to carry on with basketball?

No – surely not. I'm just being paranoid. Yet somehow I cannot shake this uncomfortable feeling.

Confused, I close my eyes. I breath slowly. In, then out. Trying to pull the threads of my thoughts together. This is just too much - far, far too much - for me to cope with now.

"They were just jealous," Chanwoo's voice has a distinctly anxious tone, as if he is already regretting letting this story out. "Over that girl you rejected. It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

I don't look at Chanwoo again. I don't look at anything or anyone. I turn away, as if in a trance, and somehow navigate my stunned passage out of the library. This time nobody bothers to call me back.

 

==/==/==/

 

Jiwon’s POV

 

Junhoe behaves a oddly over the next few days. It isn't... obvious, but I can tell that he is avoiding us – avoiding me. It's something in his manner. He seems more offish, more eager to leave than before. And he doesn't hang around and wait for me after practise. It bothers me. I feel myself aching with his absence.

Of course I suspect it is related to my recent comments about not carrying on with basketball. But Junhoe has never been the small-minded sort. If he really had a problem with me, I am quite certain he would come over and confront me about it, but this uncharacteristic evasion has me quite stumped. What would possibly cause him to act this way? Besides, my words that day were truthful and sincere. Professional basketball has never been my aim. And while I am quite sure that I will never stop playing - basketball is, after all, a part of my soul – I never intended to make it my career. I am not like Junhoe, after all. I don't have his drive or his ambition. Basketball, to me, has always been a matter of fun, of enjoyment. Not something to be taken so seriously.

After all, last season, without Junhoe to play with, I ended up losing all interest in the game. After too many missed training sessions, I spent most of the season on the bench. And honestly, it didn't bother me in the slightest.

No, I am not like Junhoe who, even without me, plays exceptionally well. I need him there. But he... he doesn't need me at all.

The thought makes me smile to myself.

I wonder when it was that basketball stopped being a hobby, and started being an excuse to be with him. Became nothing but a tool to get inside his head. To satisfy myself with his presence.

I sigh.

I wonder if he can really be so upset about this basketball thing that he would avoid me so completely like this. No, there must be something more. So why wouldn't he confide in me?

When I am feeling troubled by things, I tend to seek him out. Isn't it then that I treasure him the most? The way he makes everything seem simpler.

I feel sad to realise he doesn't see me in the same way.

In any case, right now, I would value his quiet presence more than anything.

As luck would have it, I spot him sitting alone at his usual seat in one of the dining rooms. My desire to talk to him privately has me walking swiftly in his direction. For once, Chanwoo and Donghyuk are not with me. For once I might sit, and look in his eyes and discuss my position seriously with him. I want his opinion. I want his advice. I have been waiting for it, in fact, for days.

I pull up short, however, when she sits down next to him.

I blink.

Who… who is that?

She is a particularly beautiful woman. That is plain to see. She sets down a hefty text book and drops her satchel bag into one of the empty seats. Probably one of the freshmen, the same age as Junhoe, perhaps from his class. A soft, cotton sweater looks pleasant over skinny jeans, her long hair shimmers where she tucks it behind her ears. Her expression is friendly and likeable.

He does not look up to greet her, but then again, neither does he move away. She smiles and speaks something – perhaps a greeting – and sets her tray down beside his, clearly intending to eat with him.

With Koo Junhoe. That handsome but anti-social boy who has never shown the slightest tolerance for girls since the day I met him four years ago. With Koo Junhoe. Who always, always, eats alone.

Feeling somewhat shell-shocked by the strange scene, I slip into a nearby seat and continue to watch them across the dining hall.

She chatters away, and although he doesn't make any talkative responses to her words, she doesn't seem in the least put off by this. She smiles. She giggles. She offers him a slice of her sandwich, which he accepts, and she places a soft, dangerous hand on his arm. She smiles more and talks more. And he. He looks up. He looks into her face. He listens to what she says in a way I have never, ever seen him do before. And every second it is more obvious that they... are. And every second I feel colder and colder.

Who is she? Where did she come from?

It is painfully obvious that I have missed something important. But, wouldn't he have told me if he had met a girl? Why this? Why now? Why, when it is so unlike him?

I feel like there's a rock settled in my stomach. He is... my best friend, so why is it so difficult – nigh impossible – for me to simply approach them and find out? Why does the prospect of asking him ‘Is this your girlfriend?’ fill me with such dread?

Of course I know how popular he is. How handsome. How well known. How easy it must be for him to find girls. But I never, not for one moment, expected this.

It's like I can no longer breathe. How awful it feels. To have something I so valued, taken away from me, so easily. Junhoe has never really given me reason to feel jealous before. Now it grips me, and it’s by far worse than I thought it would be. This small, disreputable emotion that people condemn and censure and dismiss. It is... agony. I stand, in a sort of stupefied astonishment, and feeling cold to my core, I leave.

 

==/==/==/

 

Jiwon’s POV

 

Training feels hopelessly awkward. The tension around him is obvious, even to our teammates. When he plays, it's as if Junhoe has been replaced by some sort of demon. He doesn't stop – I swear he doesn't stop the whole time – leaving the rest of us far behind him. He has always been serious, focused, excellent, but today he goes even beyond his usual energies. He slams balls into baskets as if his life depends on it. He runs as if someone is chasing him with an axe. When he fouls another player violently enough to hurt, Hanbin calls a stop to practise for the day.

My concern escalating, I hang back while everyone else troops off to the changing rooms, noticing that Hanbin has called Junhoe over to talk with. I feel utterly helpless in the face of Junhoe's strange mood. I want to be the one he shares his concerns with. The fact that he isn't confiding in me at all makes me feel... frustrated. Perhaps even angry. It is clear, to me at least, that something is wrong. I hope to listen in on the conversation, but the captain's meaningful stare sends me out of the court with the others.

In the changing rooms, they can talk about nothing except Junhoe and his new girlfriend. Who is she? Where did they meet? Is she really his type? Did they know each other before? Why did he finally decide to get together with a girl?

Naturally, being known as the best friend, the majority of these questions get directed at me. Some friend I am – I don't have a single answer.

I shower. I change. I say goodbye to everyone as they leave. I sit and wait for him.

For once, Chanwoo and Donghyuk seem to get the point, and leave without me. But not before Chanwoo admits to a quick confession - ("I got pretty angry at him. I told him about what those football players were saying the other day. I hope that hasn't upset him, somehow. I know I shouldn't have told him but I-")

Oh.

I sit and rub my hands over my face in the now-empty changing room. How desperate I am to talk to him, but I don't have the first idea what to say. Strange. Because I have never found it difficult to talk to Junhoe before.

Before I can really get my thoughts in order, he makes his tired way into the changing rooms. I stand up. He is, it is quite obvious, exhausted. He pushed himself far too hard. His face is drained and tired, his eyes without their usual light. It makes me sad – to see him this way.

"You worked hard today" I say, by way of an opener. He just looks up at me blankly, and then heads towards his locker to collect his towel. I follow him. "Is everything... okay?"

Pulling out his towel, he bangs the locker door shut. "I'm fine."

He obviously isn't fine.

"Everyone is talking about your new... er... girlfriend," the word catches like a hiccough in my throat.

"Hn."

"I was... a bit surprised."

For the first time, he actually meets my eyes. "What's so surprising about it?" Slightly... snappish. A little defensive. I purse my lips slightly.

"I mean, is this really the right time for messing around with girls?"

His eyebrows rise up sceptically. He doesn't need to say anything - I know he is accusing me of hypocrisy. I sigh. The problem with Junhoe, I have come to realise, is that he is good – far, far too good – at hiding his emotions. It is so rare, even for me, to ever catch a glimpse of what rivers run underneath his exterior. All those things he is hiding.

"Look, I know I've... had a few girlfriends in the past-" (none over the last year, though) "-so that's why I know how much time and bother they are. And you... shouldn't you be focusing on your basketball right now? I mean, you are serious about playing, aren't you? You want to go pro, right?"

His stare is irritated. I should probably stop sticking my nose into his business. Probably, I should stop.

I don't, though.

"Besides," I hear myself lecture on. "Do you even actually like that girl? It's hardly fair to her, is it? Are you just doing this because of what those footballers said? Or are you doing this just because you want to sleep with her?"

I've overstepped a line somewhere. I probably overstepped it a while ago. I know this because he draws back his fist and smashes it into my cheek, sending me staggering backwards, bashing noisily into the lockers behind me. And good god he is strong. My eyes are watering like mad.

"It's none of your business" he retorts. His voice is low, cold, unfriendly. I put my palm against my throbbing cheek and look at up at him.

"How can you say that?" I demand, my unhappiness over the last couple of days surfacing in my voice. "Aren't I your friend?"

"Friend?" he echoes, and the bitter amusement in his voice has me squinting at him nervously. "Friend?"

I don't know what to say. I have never seen him act so strangely before. I watch him as he stalks over to the row of sinks along one wall. Sufficiently reprimanded, I follow him almost meekly.

He runs cold water over his hands, and then, cupping them together, sloshes water over his face and hair, shaking his head from side to side as if to clear it, sending crystallised droplets in all directions.

"Junhoe... did I... offend you somehow?" I ask, my voice sounding strained and uncomfortable, even to me.

He pauses, looking up to meet my unhappy gaze in the mirror. My disconsolate expression has him sighing. "Just forget it."

But I can't forget it. I can't bear it. This new tension between us. I watch his back, dragging my eyes over every inch of him. Him, and his fire. A soul that will not be bound. Someone who I have never seen even contemplate the jealous opinions of others before. His self-confidence was always astonishing to me. I've admired him, for so long. That he did as whatever his passions told him to. That he was able to live in such a way – in a way I wanted to live too.

Now, however, I am seeing something new.

This girl is the first time he has ever responded to external opinions in a way that runs counter to his nature. I know – I know– he isn't serious about it. I know he has no interest in girls, or in relationships in general. Which only causes me to wonder – what is different? What makes this rumour unlike any others? Either he genuinely is disgusted by homosexuality – which I doubt, for he has never expressed any strong opinions on it before – or else... he is caught in a web of self-deception. That is to say, that it is... true.

Could it be?

True?

My heartbeat speeds up perceptibly.

I steel myself. To see the world as Junhoe sees it. To do just what my desires tell me to do. To step up, and not be ashamed of myself. Perhaps this day, now that I see Junhoe's strength finally waver, it is my... duty... as his friend... to pick him up. And dust him off. And make him see. Yes, make him see. Make him see just what I see, when I look at him.

Suddenly decisive, I take a step forward.  
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	4. Mirror

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Junhoe’s POV

 

I freeze in surprise when, from behind me I feel his heat curl around my back. I look up as he rests his chin on my shoulder so that we seem a sudden picture in the mirror right before our eyes.

Another friendly gesture.

I start as if to move away, but his hands on my forearms make me stay.

"Wait a moment," he asks, staring into the mirror at our shared reflection intently. I turn my eyes to look at what he is seeing.

We are almost the same height. His hair, shiny and black seems to merge into mine, the same, as if we are joined at the scalp.

A picture of friendship. Close friendship. Best friends. That is what he is seeing.

"Junhoe..." he begins, and his voice has a dreamy, contemplative quality to it, "... when you look at yourself in the mirror, what do you see?"

I don't answer, but keep my eyes safely glued on my waistband, as if interested in the bright colours of my sportswear. His chin is still heavy on my shoulder, his large hands warm against my skin. I am still conscious of his close proximity. Extremely conscious of how it feels to be able to lean back against him. He tilts his head slightly.

"You never look at yourself in the mirror," he points out. "Never."

I raise my eyes to meet his in the reflection.

"You think I don't notice, but I do."

"I do look," I shrug, "sometimes."

"Then, what do you see?"

Furrowing my brows I determine to look at myself, meeting my own eyes in the glass defiantly. Just to prove him wrong.

What do I see when I look at myself in the mirror?

Ugliness. Weakness. Shame.

I disgust myself. I have to advert my eyes.

He sighs at my reaction.

"Junhoe..." my name again. He sounds almost disappointed. "...you are beautiful. Why don't you see that?"

"I'm not-" I try to protest immediately, but he interrupts me.

"You are. You are just... just so..." his words seem to fail him and I watch him again in the mirror as he turns his face towards mine, closing his eyes, breathing softly. My heart hiccups in my chest.

"Why can't you see... what I see?"

I open my mouth to reply, but stop when his hand moves down to my stomach and starts rustling up the fabric to reveal my midriff. My eyes widen, "Jiwon, what-?" and my hand moves to stop his.

"No, look. See?" He bats my hand away and tugs the fabric up further, holding it up with one hand and drawing his fingers across the exposed skin of my torso. The air feels cold, his fingers strange and ticklish. "You look perfect."

Just... a friendly gesture... is it? Then why is my stomach in knots, a lump in my throat, a tentative stirring of my desires? Isn't this going beyond the limited realm of friendship? I don't really know - I haven't much experience with this sort of thing. Perhaps it is just Jiwon being weird. After all, there really isn't anything so wrong... with this... is there? Why shouldn't a friend acknowledge the body of another friend. Touch it, even, like this? Perhaps it happens all the time. But that doesn't seem to reduce the sudden burning on my cheeks.

My face has turned red, but still I don't pull away, partly because I feel like to do so would be to act unreasonably, perhaps to disappoint him. Partly because, appalling as it is, his attention is somehow... pleasant. My selfish ego is soothed by his words. But I have to look away from the mirror. I cannot bear to see myself, so close to him, and so far away.

"And here..." he continues, dropping his hand down to my waistband, slipping his fingers partly below the elastic, stopping just above my briefs, holding his hand flat against the muscles of my fluttering stomach. I let out a long, nervous breath. Is he... teasing me? He must, I am sure, be able to feel the heat radiating from me. Be able to feel the frantic pounding of my heart. If he moves his hand down any further, he will notice my ugly, shameful desires too.

That... I cannot let that happen. I cannot let him find out how much his staring eyes arouse me. How much I am drawing perverse pleasure from being exposed and examined under his hands.

His hand moves, twitches, I don't know whether it is up or down but with all my nerves on fire I finally start into action, spinning around to find myself trapped between him and the sink. He grips my arms to keep me there and looks into my face with an earnest expression of abject hurt.

"Are we... not friends?"

His plaintive voice, returning to our earlier conversation, fills me with guilt. I want, more than anything, for us to continue to be good friends. Close friends. Best friends. Let it... continue. I was selfish before. Short-sighted. I can hardly bear, cannot bear to be without him for even a day. And even if it is only platonic, I still value it, treasure it, above all things. Just friends. If the alternative is his disgust, I will be happy, more than happy, with 'just friends' forever.

"Do you hate me?"

I shake my head, my mouth incapable of forming words, of putting my vast conflicting emotions across with any semblance of sense. Or perhaps, were I to speak now, I would reveal the enormity of my lies. That our entire so-called friendship is based on my own selfish intentions. That I am only here with him because I want him. That there is nothing innocent, nothing beautiful, about my lust.

"Then... could it be that you... like me?"

His voice... sounds quite alien. His wide eyes, so close to mine, see everything. Every last flicker of emotion that I can no longer hold back from my face.

At his perceptive words, I start. He pushes too close to my dark secrets for comfort. If he is joking then-... but he isn't joking. His eyes reveal nothing but earnestness. My entire body is moved to shock by the proposition put forward to me. Could I perhaps... take this opportunity... to confess? In a drama, in a film, it would be so. But no, no. I mustn't. Cannot. Deny it - deny!

But I immediately find that it is much harder to tell a lie direct to his eyes than it has been to merely conceal the truth. My tongue stumbles in my mouth, trips, my face flushes red with panic.

I want to run. Run! Put as much distance as possible between myself and this meltdown. But I am nothing more than a cornered rat. My feet are locked, hopelessly trembling in place. I couldn't take a single step without tumbling down at his feet.

"Aren't you going to deny it?" His voice has the same strain, the same high pitched panic that mine probably would. "Your expression will only make me think for myself!"

I meet his eyes. What else can I do? My mind is a wreck, my body flooded with panic. I have nothing left. Nothing to say. Nothing to lose. Utterly undone.

He stares back at me for a long moment, his expression disbelieving, his lips parted in his shock.

"Junhoe..." he mutters finally, confused, troubled, astonished. The conclusion he must draw from my silent, hopeless stare surely dawning on him. Imagine his horror. His revulsion. As I expect, he drops his hold on my arms as if I burn him. "...Junhoe, I..."

I try my best to keep my eyes open and my stare steady as I await my rejection. The censure that surely must come.

He sighs.

"Junhoe." My name again. In his mouth it sounds like pealing bells. "Listen to me. You know I truly treasure our friendship, and I wouldn't want anything to jeopardise it, but the truth is... what I mean is... what I really want from you... is not your friendship... but your love."

It is beyond me to give a reaction of any sort.

He looks nervously at me with uncertain eyes. "If I have... made a mistake... I only wanted to... let you know, I- If I disgust you then I-"

"No," I somehow manage to twist air into some semblance of words. Feeling my panic still coiling and uncoiling painfully in my chest I force myself to take a breath. Slowly. Just go... slowly. "No, don't take it back." Breath in. Out. And then, in a quieter breath, with my eyes fixed firmly downwards towards his chin, "please don't take it back."

And that is when a strange, lightweight sensation of relief finally crashes over me. Breathe. I can... breathe. Nervously, I look up, and meet his eyes.

I watch the tension drain from his face. I am not ignorant of what such a confession must have cost him. I would not, could not, have done the same. I stand, momentarily, in awe of him.

The change in the air is palpable, as if a thunderstorm just ripped through our midst. Uncertainty he reaches out once again. The gesture is the same as it always was, but the feelings behind it are different.

I find myself... held. Surprisingly gently. As if he is still overly conscious of me. But it is... relief. For me too. Just stood there, in the empty changing rooms, with my head against his shoulder, my chest against his chest, my arms against his sides, my toes - yes, even my toes - against his. Pressing. Pressing. It is strange, and extraordinarily wonderful.

I gather my breath.

I can't help feeling that this can't be real. There's no reason that I should so inexplicably and effortlessly get exactly what I desire. My life doesn't work that way. This... must be my fault, somehow. I must be the one who polluted our friendship, though it was unconsciously done. I must have said something, done something, to corrupt him. The responsibility for that is mine to bear.

"Jiwon?"

"Hmm?"

If he can confess, so must I.

"Since before..." I mutter, "...for a long time I've... had this... this lust for you."

He lifts his head to stare at me, uncomprehending.

"Isn't it... wrong?" I prompt.

Moving back, his hands fall on my shoulders like ton weights and I feel myself shaken slightly, back and forth, his eyes inches from mine.

"What are you saying?" He demands. "I've wanted to do this kind of thing with you since the day I met you!"

My eyes widen for a second, and then, without waiting, he pushes forward and kisses me.

It is surprisingly warm. I didn't know what to expect. This feels odd... but not unpleasant. His lips are a surprising sort of softness quite unlike anything I've experienced before. Yes, I think I can quite safely say this is beyond the realm of any of my experiences. He seems so much... more, when I am able to experience him from this new dimension. He seems... larger, more purposeful, more... like a man... than I ever noticed before. Someone who knows what he wants. Someone who takes what he wants. There is... quite a difference between us, at this moment. I feel naive, dwarfed, by him, by everything that he is. And, quite profoundly I realise how intensely I feel. So proud of him. This man, who is my greatest friend. This man, who is mine.

In the back of my mind, my own yawning failings flutter. The hole in my unpleasant personality, in my jaded, antisocial attitude, my arrogance, my conceit. Could he, just being there, becoming... a part of me... would he be able to overlook, perhaps even compensate... for that?

Now, at this moment, I am all but convinced that Kim Jiwon can do anything in the world. Yet before I can entrench myself too deeply in my self criticism, the kiss ends, he draws back, and I find myself turned about in his embrace until I am back facing the mirror, to the same picture as before. Except it is not the same. For now his arm holds my waist tightly, as if he is afraid I will vanish in a puff of smoke, and his cheeks are flushed, and his lips shimmering.

"What do you see?"

I hesitate, and at once I can almost feel the physical wave of his frustration.

"Junhoe. Don't you see that you are... everything I want to be. Your confidence, your skill, your attitude, all of it. You astonish me, every day. I... admire you... and respect you... more than anyone I've ever met. Can't you see what you do to me? Do you need me to show you?"

I meet his eyes in the mirror and see breathlessness that mirrors mine. Desperation that mirrors mine. Lust, hot and powerful, equal in two pairs of eyes.

I can't help it. It forces my way out of my mouth before I can really think about it. I am empty. And I am full. Of reservations. Of now.

"Show me." I demand.

There is a short second in which I have to opportunity to feel embarrassed by the crass enormity of my words before he pulls me away from the sinks with sudden ferocity, as if he had been waiting for nothing but my cue, and I find myself all but thrown towards the bench, barely with a second to breath before he covers me, kissing and gasping and tugging at my clothes. I don't fight this. I simply close my eyes and lose myself in it. In Jiwon Jiwon's firestorm. The centre. Where I belong.

He pulls my jersey up and over my head and it occurs to me that there probably isn't much that could stop him now. Just as well. I don't think I could stop myself either.

It isn't until he frees me of my shorts that I notice the mirror that covers the opposing wall, across from where I am sitting. My body goes cold for a moment, but unlike my usual compulsion to look away, I find myself unable to stop staring. I see myself, flushed and crumpled and soaked in desire, and I can see Jiwon's broad shoulders, his frantic movements, his hungriness.

Looking into the mirror is like looking from an outsider's point of view. To see ourselves through the eyes of someone else. Is that... really me? Is that how other people see me? For in the glass I see, with this suddenly more objective eye, two exquisite young men, ruled by powerful instincts, utterly infatuated with one another. And the scene... is so breathtakingly beautiful that I lose my breath in staring.

I throw my head back when I feel his hot mouth around me – an abrupt and sharp pleasure rushes through my body as I knot my fingers in his hair. But my eyes are drawn back again to see my warm cheeks, my gasping, needy mouth reflected right before my eyes. A shudder runs through me and I curl my body slightly forwards, seeking to embrace him, feeling boneless under the force of his clumsy ferocity. But I cannot look away. From the sight of my body made helpless by his touch. From my face which, for the first time, reveals so transparently the rawness of my feelings for him.

It is nearly enough, just to see myself like that, to tip my pleasure over the edge. But before I can, he pulls away and, with gentle but trembling hands, guides me off the bench to join him on the floor. I move at his direction without protest.

The tiles and cold and hard under my knees and palms, slight ridges making patterns in my flesh. I shiver slightly to feel his hands on my hips, the pressing, eager size of his desire against my thigh as he leans down to lick the sweat that trickles down that length of my spine with a hot, wet tongue. I can't hold back a groan and a shudder.

Leaning forwards over me he lifts my chin with a finger so I am confronted with the twin image of our flushed, panting faces. I, awkward on my hands and knees, and he behind me, over me, ready and hungry. I meet his reflected eyes with a silent plea etched into mine.

"Watch" he tells me.

And I do. I watch the way my face seems to melt as he forces his way into me. How my eyelids droop with the peculiar mix of pleasure and pain, my mouth opening in a soundless gasp, how my eyebrows raise, almost with perplexed surprise. How I wince next, and blink, and crinkle my brow as the pain overshadows other sensations. Then I look up to see that his face is hot in disbelief, his jaw slack with pleasure, his eyes closed as he savours the sensations I give to him. His earnest seriousness, mixed with his passionate wonder, make me unable to look away.

My nails grate over the tiles, yet no matter how the pleasure mounts up behind my eyes, I do not close them. My focus fogs and blurs, until I can barely see anything at all, and yet I do not look away. Physically perhaps I am quite the state; my hair messed, my skin flushed red and unattractive, small and awkward on my knees, the shape of my gentiles swinging helplessly with each trust, leaking stickiness down my thighs. No, this is probably not my most attractive state.

And yet finally I can look myself in the eye in my reflection.

The compulsion to look away is gone.

That ugliness, transfigured, by what he gives to me. By what I allow myself to take.

My eyes remain open until the moment I spill my pleasure over the floor, gasping and crying out his name, and feeling like I am so many butterflies taking flight.

Tiny, and frightened, and perfect.

 

 

==/==/==/==/

 

 

"Hey Junhoe. Junhoe!"

I don't bother to look over, my eyes fixed on the mirror as I adjust my tie.

He grins slightly, leaning against the boxes piled besides the bedroom door, folding his arms.

He has styled his hair, I notice. Unusual recently - he had it cut shorter a couple of months back, and has never bothered to style it since. Now, however, he has lifted it back in a soft wave away from his face, less extreme than his former adolescent wavy hair. The effect is to reveal his handsome features even more appealingly. That, plus the smart black suit and tie really serve to make my heart beat a little bit faster.

"You look good" he compliments me, stepping casually into the room, passing eagerly across the floor to stand behind me and admire the picture in the glass. I continue to ignore him, fiddling with my tie, until he loops an arm around my chest and pulls me back against his body playfully. "What about me?" he prompts.

I let my eyes run over his suit, polished shoes and blue waistcoat thoughtfully. I don't say anything, but I don't need to. I know he can see my approval in my eyes.

Apparently content, he pushes his face forward and rests his chin on my shoulder, inclining his head slightly to bump our heads affectionately together. Then, like that, we continue to watch ourselves in the mirror. A perfectly matching pair.

"Hey," he speaks suddenly, the image of us together in the mirror stirring a recollection, "do you remember the first time we-" he grins suggestively, "-in the changing rooms?"

"Hhmm." I try to dismiss the comment casually, but I suspect the heat that rises on my cheeks gives me away.

"Man, we were lucky no one walked in, I mean, can you imagine?"

I frown slightly. It makes me feel hot just remembering it. When I recall our shared delirium, how every moment of what we did still plays like a movie in the glass before my eyes.

"You know... there's still thirty minutes before we need to leave for the uni," he points out slyly, licking his lips compulsively, no doubt already thinking of innumerable unsavoury things.

Without a word I reach behind me and grab hold of his crotch, squeezing him ruthlessly, almost painfully hard.

"If you don't stop that" I growl in a low warning, noticing the shiver that runs through him at the quiet sensuality of my voice, "you're going to ruin that suit."

He winces and tries to smile placatingly until I let him go. Then he folds me up pleasantly in his arms, totally unconcerned about how much he is crumpling up my suit.

"I can't believe you're graduating today," he says, running his fingers affectionately through my hair. "And that we have to get all these boxes moved over to my place before next week. And that finally... finally you might actually be able to come up with your half of the rent. Ouch!"

I glare at him through my fringe, my heel still crushing his foot. He ignores my aggression and, smiling, leans forward to kiss the tip of my nose. "Beautiful Junhoe. Congratulations."

"Hn," I try to pretend to be annoyed, but I have to bury my face in his shoulder to hide my smile. He only holds me back gently, no doubt knowing exactly what a pleasant wave of warmth he causes in me. How huge is the feeling of contentedness that wells up inside me. How I half wish we could stay forever just like this, but half can't wait to see what will happen next.

"You're going to be busy," he points out after a moment, and not without a hint of sadness in his voice, "after this. First the move to my apartment, and then your training starts."

He is right, of course. After accepting a contract from a professional basketball team, I am lucky that he is willing to move halfway across the country with me. But I know the move, new city and new jobs will be demanding for both of us. Still, holding him like this, I can't help but believe everything will turn out all right.

After a moment I bring myself to speak, my voice muffled by the fabric of his suit. "Jiwon?"

"Yeah?"

I draw back and look seriously into his eyes.

"Now it's only twenty minutes."

He can't help the grin that cracks over his face as he pushes me towards the bed.

I catch a glimpse of my face in the mirror. A young man, about to start on the next adventure of his life, and in full possession of exactly what he wants most.

Yup.

I can look into that mirror, and all I can see, is my complete and utter contentment.

 

~end

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! So this is the end... 😭 I hope the ending is okay and that it doesn't look too rushed, because it isn't! I swear.. Hahahaha. 
> 
> Anyway, give me some comments! I want to know if this story is okay? 
> 
> And again, thank you for reading this story of mine.


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